


Wilder Than Her

by GrayJay



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Dar Williams, F/F, Fred Eaglesmith, I refuse to admit that this relationship is not 100 percent canon, half-assed songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:14:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayJay/pseuds/GrayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t do up-close and personal. You do rooftops and last-minute saves. You play chicken with death because there is <em>nothing</em>, no kiss, no fuck, no madness that will ever match that perfect rush. You thought for a while that Logan might be on the same track, but you’re a sprinter who never learned to pace for marathons, and healing factor or no, he could never keep up with you.</p><p>On the other hand, Logan can’t fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wilder Than Her

_She’s a summer storm_  
_I’m a hurricane_  
_One just blows through town_  
_One blows the town away_  
-Fred Eaglesmith, ”Wilder Than Her”

* * *

One misstep, and you’re screaming down through the sky like the world’s greatest carnival ride with the safeties off. Split seconds from the ground, just when you’re wondering how you’re gonna roll out of this one ( _whether_ is never part of the math), something catches your arm. The ride goes _up, up, up_ , and suddenly landing is the last thing on your mind, because between the wind in your face and the grip on your wrist (and the wrist under your hand), you are _flying_ , for real flying, not just a leap, not a trick, and you are (for once, finally, for now) _here_ and nowhere else. _This could last forever_ , you think, and you’d be okay with that. 

This is what no one else ever really gets: build up enough momentum, and you can stop time. Stop time, and there are no in-betweens. No conversations. No tricky either-ors. When time stops, you can have it all, crystalline and fluid at once. 

So, you’re flying, and you are into this. You are _so_ into this.

Once you're close to the ground, she lets you drop, and you cartwheel off, giddy and dizzy like a kid. You’ve got it _bad_.

* * *

You don’t do up-close and personal. You do rooftops and last-minute saves. You play chicken with death because there is _nothing_ , no kiss, no fuck, no madness that will ever match that perfect rush. You thought for a while that Logan might be on the same track, but you’re a sprinter who never learned to pace for marathons, and healing factor or no, he could never keep up with you.

On the other hand, Logan can’t fly.

* * *

The next night you do it again, only this time she’s crackling with blue fire, and you’re the one who grabs the remains of Mariko’s kimono for insulation (you may be a few screws short, but, _fuck_ , man, you want to see what happens _next_ ) and tackles her out of the sky. Because you are the crazy-ass luckiest ronin on the block, the lightning settles down _before_ you hit the water, before the explosion and the ten-story-tall firebird that shrieks up into the night like a high-five from god.

You’ve given up on the honor-and-duty patter, because while you still fully intend to kick the ass of anyone who gets in the way of your best friend’s walk down the aisle, you are _done, done, done_ with that martyr game. Logan is goddamn lucky that you and this goddess of a storm queen of his are on the same page, because if she took off for Seoul or, hell, the _Moon_ tonight, you’d be puppy-paddling right along after, and Clan Yashida could work its own shit out.

When she asks if this was just another _good time_ to you, you can hear how hard she’s trying to sound like the disapproving tight-wound mama hen she obviously thinks it’s her job to be. It fits her like a second-rate business suit; you’re gonna grab that sleek monster inside and bust her out like the Hulk, if the Hulk could shoot lightning and looked like-- _well_. All of that _and she can fly_. 

And that’s when she goes soft and wistful and starts talking about harmony and control, and baby, there is no stopping this train. It is _on_. One streetfight and two hours later, you’re fucking her wrist deep on a rooftop while she sparks like a roman candle and you think for a moment that maybe this could be the one you take all the way to the top.

* * *

Nah, you know better than that. You’ll lick off each other’s fingers and dress her in your best leather pants and steal some poor fucker’s clippers to cut off that shampoo-commercial hair because _why the fuck not_ , but when push comes to shove, she’ll still be a goddamn _superhero_ and you’ll be you. Maybe she can catch you for a minute--but you know there’s no way in hell she’ll keep up with you for long if she stops for all the lights.

That’s cool. You’ll be around--not waiting, though, ‘cause you’re already starting to feel some drag, and it’s not like time’s gonna stop itself.


End file.
